by Leah Holt
Luckily, I wasn't naive or a rambler. I was going to wait for him to give up the reason, not feed him information he might not know.
But this was something else, something different. He was far too relaxed for this to be about murder. Maybe it was about the truck they stole last year or the money that Nick had me launder through the bar.
Either way, he didn't have enough to charge anyone, let alone me. Because if he did, we'd all be behind bars right now and he wouldn't be sitting here fishing for information on me.
“Look, you're not under arrest. We read you your rights because we have to, and we put cuffs on you for our own safety. You were a bit wild back there, we had to be cautious.”
“If I'm not under arrest, then I want to leave. You can't hold me here if I don't want to stay.”
“Okay, alright, I get it.” Letting out an audible exhale, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just want to know who you are. There's no record of a Cyprus Rottera anywhere. You obviously came from somewhere. I'm just trying to sort this all out.”
“And I'm trying to figure out why you thought you had the right to come storming into our home the way you did.”
“Well,” he said, sucking air in through thin lips. “If what we think is true, Nicholi and Birch are going to be put away for a long time. People talk and secrets don't stay buried forever. So if you want to help them, you can start by telling me where you came from. The sooner you tell me, the sooner you can get out of here. I'm just trying to help, that's it.”
Bullshit. Trying to help? He's trying to get me to talk.
“What kind of shit? You need to give me more than that.”
“Well for starters, we've been keeping a close eye on Nick for years. Never really had much until recently. It turns out he was pretty close to the men we're looking for.” Resting his head on his hand, he smiled smugly. “Now it's your turn. Who are you?”
I sat in silence. How could I even give him an answer when I didn't know myself. If they had done their job to begin with, we wouldn't be sitting here wondering what name I was born with.
The two of us glared at each other, neither one ready to break the silence. My loyalty wasn't with the police, it was with my family. I would do anything to protect them and they would do the same for me.
That's how this worked, that was the binding holding it all together.
“Do you really know the people you're living with?” he asked, tilting his head a hair. “Do you have any idea?”
“I do. And I know that what you think of them is wrong. You see bad people doing bad things, I see the family that has taken care of me and provided for me. Bad people don't do that.”
“Cared for you?” His eyes flirted with mine, leaving me to wonder what the hell he was thinking. “I hate to burst the little bubble you're living in, but bad people do a lot of shit, even when it seems good. There's always a layer of selfishness built inside. I can guarantee it's no different right now.”
A knock at the door cut through the air, forcing the banter between us to stop.
An older woman with gray hair poked her head in, her face sullen and concerned. “I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Detective French needs you for a minute.”
Nodding, Jones grabbed his notebook and pen, and stood up. “I'll be back. Take this time to think about what you want. Do you want to spend time behind bars for these assholes? Or do you want to be free to live your life? It's up to you.”
Holding the door in his hand, he gave me one last look over his shoulder and stepped outside the room.
Why should I have to chose?
Dropping my head to the table, I wasn't sure what the hell I should do. A piece of me wanted to tell him the truth, to tell him that he was asking me a question I didn't have an answer for.
I wanted to tell him how this family had found me and taken care of me for all these years. I wanted him to know that I owed them my life and that without them, I'd probably be dead.
But why should I? Why did he deserve the pleasure of listening to me spill the deep dark secret I was holding inside?
Shouldn't he know this already? Shouldn't there be a record of me in their system from all those years ago?
The thought made me pause, it chipped away at my brain, making me question why he wasn't already aware that I was the girl Nick had found.
Fuck them, they never gave a shit anyway.
They had their chance to help me and they failed. The police had deserted that young girl looking for answers herself. I was Cyprus now, that's who I was. I was part of the Rottera family, nothing would change that.
He could threaten me with time behind bars, he could take my signature off all the paperwork and use it to lock me up for fraud and tax evasion. It didn't matter, I still wouldn't speak ill of Nick and Birch.
Since I stepped foot in that house, the one thing that Nick had drilled into my head was that being part of their family meant standing on your own two feet if you had to. You take a bullet for those you love, this was my bullet.
Closing my eyes, I folded my arms under my head and laid there on the table. I didn't really care how long they kept me, I wasn't going to say shit.
I heard the door creak open and the sound of footsteps approach me from above. But I didn't get up, I just laid quietly, waiting for something. For what? Who the hell knows.
Maybe he would tell me I could go home now, maybe he would apologize for being a prick and send me on my way.
“Miss, I need you to sit up.”
“Why? I'm good right here.”
“No, I think you should sit up.” His voice was different, it was softer and less intimidating than before. “Come on, sit up.”
Is this part of his game? A Good cop, bad cop routine that he altered between.
Rolling up slowly, I peered at the detective with as little emotion as I could. I didn't want him to think he was getting to me, or that he was building some relationship with me he could use against my family.
“Better?”
Detective Jones sat down, running a hand through his thick blonde hair. His green eyes were dull, lost in thought. He stared at me, not saying a word, just looking at me like he had a million things running through his head and he didn't know where to begin.
“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Do you recognize this?” Placing a small purple book on the table, he rested his hand on top. “Have you ever seen it before?”
Tilting my head, I looked at the notebook. “No, I've never seen it before. What is it?”
“Are you sure?” Using the tips of his fingers, he turned it. “Just take a minute and think about it. Have you ever seen it before?”
There were small flowers lining the top and bottom trim, a thick leather strap held the front and back cover together. Doodles of stars and hearts were drawn in pen down the binding, and the name Fiona was scribbled in the bottom right corner.
“I've never seen this before. Where did you get it?”
“Well, Cyprus,” he said, stroking his jaw. “I think it's yours.” Pushing it forward, he nodded his head. “Go on, take a look.” Folding back the cover, he opened it. “Maybe you'll remember if you read it.”
Gripping the trim on either side, I pulled it in. I stared at the detective for a moment, trying to figure out what type of game this was. This book wasn't mine, it had nothing to do with me.
Why the hell does he want me to read it?
Touching the corner, I fiddled with the thin seam and dropped my eyes to the paper. Inside I felt horrible, like I was violating some little girl's deepest thoughts. This was her book, it was her feelings and wishes, her anger and sadness.
We had no right reading what was in there. My eyes kept popping around the page, afraid to truly see what this girl had put down.
“Read it, read what she wrote.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Snapping my eyes up, I glared at Jones, doing my best to tear him apart. “We don't have a
ny right reading this.”
“I think we do, I think it's more important than you realize.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I don't think you'd believe me if I told you. Read it first, then we'll talk.”
Huffing under my breath, I flicked my eyes down and started reading. My heart began to break, it folded up and split in half, refusing to beat one more time.
There was a little girl begging for help. There was a child aching with pain and no one was listening but the pages of her private book.
Where is she now?
Chapter Seven
Dear Diary
March 7, 2010
Dear Diary,
It's me. I know, it's been a little while, but you're all I have left, just you. Nothing else exists anymore. Not my home, not my family, not my life. . .
Everything is gone.
I don't know what to do. Where do I go, how will I live, how will I survive?
I'm not sure I can do it. I don't want to.
So why am I writing you now? I can't really give you that answer.
Maybe it's just because you were there and I found you in the bag on the floor that had a few of my things in it; or maybe it's so I don't forget what I used to have.
With you I can climb back inside my memories and remember for a moment—a split second in time, that things used to be different. I had a family and a life before this. I had it all, and now I have nothing.
This isn't home. I'll never be home. I'll never get back what I lost and I know that.
A man came into my house and did something awful, something horrible, and I don't think I can even write it on paper. I don't want to. I want to wake up from this nightmare, but I can't.
He said I was lucky, he said that things could be so much different. He told me that none of this was in the plan, and that he didn't have to keep me. But I'm here, so how does that make any sense?
The tears keep coming, I can't stop them. It hurts so much to think about what he did. The things I saw, they haunt me whenever I close my eyes. I can't. . . I can't do this.
I'm alone. I'm scared. I'm afraid. And I have no one to turn to.
For the first time ever, it's just me.
So I'm writing to you, and I'm desperately searching for answers I know you can't give. I wish you could write back, I wish you could tell me everything will be fine and things will go back to the way they were.
But you won't—they won't. Nothing will ever be the same.
I hope at some point my dreams will take me back. A girl can wish, right?
I hate this.
How could he do this to me? Why did he take them from me?!
The moment that door opened, and that man came rushing in, I knew something really bad was happening. I wish I was stronger, I wish I had stood my ground. Maybe if I had then none of this would have happened.
Maybe if I had yelled and screamed he would have stopped what he was doing. But I didn't. I ran, I hid under the bed and prayed he hadn't seen me.
But he found me.
An evil man pulled me out from beneath my bed. A man with cold eyes and no emotion, he stole me from my home. He packaged me in a trunk and drove me away in the darkness.
I tried to fight, but he yanked me from my hiding place like I was a wild cat. The way his fingers pinched the back of my neck, it was as if he didn't see me as human. I screamed and kicked, I bit anything I could get my mouth on. He didn't care. Nothing phased him, nothing hurt him. He just took me like I belonged to him.
He thinks I'll forget what he did, but I won't. It doesn't matter how hard he tries to make me forget, I know who I am. And I'll never let him talk me out of it. The first chance I get, I'm gone.
— F
March 13, 2010
Dear Diary,
Today wasn't a good day, none of them have been. He hasn't let me out of this room at all. The man keeps telling me he will, but he doesn't.
These walls are a prison.
He keeps trying to tell me that he won't hurt me if I just listen, but I don't believe him. So I scream at him every time he comes in. I don't stop, I won't.
Today he told me his name, but I refuse to say it. He doesn't deserve it. I won't give him my voice in words, I won't let him forget what he stole from me. All he gets are my constant screams.
He tried to hold me so he could talk to me, but I don't want to hear what he's saying. He took my family from me, he took everything from me. I wished he had killed me instead, because this isn't living.
I feel like a rat trapped in a box, and my life has become a maze I'll never finish. There's no more home, not for me.
What am I supposed to do?
Please just give me something to hold onto, anything at all!
Everything hurts. My eyes hurt, my chest aches, my lungs feel like they're always on fire. And I can't stop it.
Whenever that man comes in I can't breathe, it's like his eyes grab hold of my lungs and suck the air right out of them. I swear he's trying to kill me, because this is torture.
I can't sleep, no matter how much I try, my eyes won't stay closed. Sometimes I think I'm having a heart attack, but it goes away after a little while. Most of the time I only feel that way when that man comes in.
He scares me. I'm afraid he's going to hurt me like he hurt my parents. The more I don't listen to him the angrier he gets. He grabs my shoulders and holds me still, barking at me to stop screaming.
He tried to talk to me about my dad and it made me so angry. I won't do that! He tried to tell me that my parents had gotten in over their heads, that none of this was supposed to happen.
He said he wants to make this better, that he wants to help me. How can he say things like that? He made it seem like none of this was his fault, but it is. He's the reason they're gone, he did this!
I want to be strong, I try so hard to not let him see how much I'm really hurting. I did everything I could to hold in my tears, but they came anyway. I hate the idea that he watched me cry like that. But even through my tears, the anger I felt intensified.
I hate him! I hate what he did! I hate him!
He made me so mad I lost it. I lashed out, I scratched his face and clawed at his eyes. I think I hurt him, because he hasn't come back again yet. Which is fine with me, I don't want him here, not if he's going to try and make me believe things that aren't true.
But I did meet someone different, a boy came in, he said his name was Birch. He's young, not old like the other guy. I think he's my age, it's hard to tell.
There's something about his eyes, the way he looks at me, it's like he feels bad for me. His eyes are different, they aren't dead and cold. It's like he wants to help me, but he doesn't know how.
At least he doesn't scare me. I don't know why he doesn't, I feel like I should be afraid of him. I should want to scream at him too, but for some reason, I don't. I actually want him to stay here with me, to keep me company, and talk to me even if I'm not talking back.
It doesn't matter what I think or how nice he is, he's one of them. I can't forget that, I won't forget that.
He's helping them to keep me here, so he can't be good.
He tried to give me some food, but I refuse to eat. I don't want anything from them. I'll die before I take one thing from these people.
He told me that if I calm down things will get better. All I have to do is follow their rules, do what I'm told and I won't have to stay locked in this room.
I want to believe him, but I don't trust him. He's in too deep to be my friend, he's probably not even here by choice either. Maybe he used to be like me? Maybe he was in the same position and that's how he knows all this?
A part of me really wants to think he's speaking the truth, I do.
I just don't know what to believe. All I know is that I don't want to stay in here forever.
What do you think? Should I trust him?
Can I trust him?
— F.
March 15, 2010
> Dear Diary,
I want to go home! I don't like it here!
I told the man to go to hell today and then I called him an asshole. I've never called someone an asshole before, but I won't lie, it felt good.
I know I'm making him angry, and I don't give a shit. He keeps saying that I'm here and I need to get used to it. He told me to stop being a bitch and just listen for once. But what does he expect?
Does he really think that I'll just shut my mouth and do what he wants? He's freaking stupid if he thinks that. He doesn't know me, he'll never know me.
I just want to get out of here. I miss my parents, I miss my life. I just want to go, and I don't know how I'm going to do that.
The door is always locked, the window doesn't open, and there's nothing in here I can use to break it. Even if I could break it, I don't have anything to use to climb out.
WHY? Why is he doing this to me?
Why isn't anyone coming to help me? Why haven't the police come and rescued me from this place?
I don't understand. I'm going crazy Diary, I really am. I can't stay in here like this.
Tell me what to do!! Please, just tell me!
March 20, 2010
Dear Diary,
I think I broke my finger. Today the man came in with a chair, and he placed it in the center of the room and made me sit in it.
I tried to fight him, but he's too strong. He dragged me across the floor and wrapped a chain around my waist to hold me in a chair. It was disgusting, it was vile and cruel and this man needs to be locked away.
Where are the police? How come no one has come to save me?
He told me that he was done with my games, that it was time for me to finally just accept my reality. He wants me to forget who I am, he wants me to forget about my parents and my life.
He said I'll be able to have all the freedom I want if I can do that. You know what I said?
No damn way.
I screamed and I cried, plugging my ears and yelling at him that he killed my family. I called him a murderer and told him he was a sick asshole. He didn't like that very much.